Running the Red
by foreverwriting9
Summary: "It's a game," he explains, and before she can do anything else, he's pulling three playing cards from inside his jacket and laying them out on her desk.


**This started as something else entirely, and then quickly progressed into a shameless pat down. I'm not sorry.**

* * *

She's sitting in her office, trying to fight off a massive headache, when Jane swings the door open.

"Hi Lisbon." He's smiling too widely and the mischief in his voice is so evident that it actually causes the pounding in her temples to grow exponentially. She is so _not _in the mood for this right now.

"Go away, Jane," she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. Maybe if she closes her eyes he'll just disappear.

He makes a reproving sound. "That won't work, you know," he says, hands in his pockets as he rocks back onto his heels.

Lisbon groans, frustrated. Sometimes she honestly hates him. "How about I threaten you with bodily harm?" she asks, glaring up at him from between her fingers. "Will that do the trick?"

He almost laughs; she can see it in his eyes. Wisely, he tamps down on the reaction, choosing instead to just shake his head at her. "You're all bluster, dear. Your bark is far worse than your bite."

There's not really anything she can say to that, because they both know it's right, and really, he is the most infuriating person she's ever met. She doesn't mean to sigh then, but it happens, and she can't take it back. (But the concerned look on his face when she deflates is almost worth it.) "Jane, _please_," she says softly, hands dropping uselessly into her lap. "This case...I can't-"

He sits down across from her, gaze serious and ocean blue, and she thinks that maybe he understands.

Everything about their current case hits her too hard. From the green eyed little boy they found buried neck deep in blinding desert sand to the already deceased mother and the angry, deadbeat father. Worse still, they have no discernible leads, and it's been days since they've been able to do anything remotely productive. Lisbon can't stop thinking that something about this case feels cold and unsolvable. "I just need some peace and quiet right now," she says, emptying the words out onto the floor. "I need some time."

Jane half nods, head tilting slightly as he reads her. "You have a headache," he says, leaning across her desk. Lisbon doesn't say anything. She doesn't really have to. His smile turns slow and sweet, and it sends something dangerous spinning through her chest. "Let me make it better."

(She should say no.)

Her uncertain pause gives him an opening, and he immediately takes advantage. "It's a game," he explains, and before she can do anything else, he's pulling three playing cards from inside his jacket and laying them out on her desk.

It's only then that the decision finally leaves her mouth. "No."

"No?" he repeats, eyebrows raised in a look that on anyone else would be considered innocent.

Her response is weary and _I just don't know what you want right now_. It's his least favorite tone of her voice. "I know how Three Card Monte works, Jane," she says, smoothing a hand over some nearby complaint forms. She has so much work to do, and he is much too distracting, even when he doesn't try.

He shrugs, grinning charmingly. "Then you'll win and you'll be happy and my job here will be done." He makes it sound so simple, so reasonable. All she has to do is accept and he'll fix everything. The concept is impossible and perfect and utterly idiotic.

"Okay." The answer tumbles out. So easy.

Jane's eyes crinkle. "Fantastic." He picks up the three cards and fans them out, showing her two red aces and the red queen of hearts. With his gaze still fixed on Lisbon, he separates the cards and places them each face down on the desk, pausing once to show her where he places the queen. Then he starts shuffling the cards around, picking them up and tossing them down, sliding them back and forth faster than she can keep track. "All right," he says finally, spreading his arms out in invitation, "where's the lady?"

She glances down at the three cards in front of her, then reaches across the desk for Jane's right wrist. His lips quirk upward into an almost smile that she doesn't see. Quickly, and without really thinking about what she's doing, Lisbon slides two fingers under the cuff of his sleeve, searching for the hidden card. His skin burns beneath her fingertips, and for a few dazzling seconds, that's all she can focus on. Then he chuckles, a low, irresistible sound, and she remembers what she's supposed to be doing. Proving to Jane that she _can_ follow some of his tricks, that not everything he does befuddles her. Determined, she walks her fingers up along the inside of his wrist, confident that she'll find what she's looking for.

Nothing. Her fingertips meet with nothing but warm skin.

Frowning, she releases his arm and then grabs his left wrist. Her fingers move slower this time, sweeping over his pulse point and brushing against the fabric of his shirt carefully. (She tells herself later that she didn't catalogue the way Jane's breath hitched or how his fingers curled around her elbow, holding her in place. Those details aren't important.) It takes her a moment to realize she's stopped feeling around for a card and has resorted to just running her fingers greedily over his skin.

Sheepishly, she pulls her hand away from him.

Jane grins. "Nothing up my sleeve." It's meant to sound cocky, but it comes out slightly breathless.

Lisbon leans back in her chair, letting her gaze drift over him as she tries to think of all the other places he could have hidden a card while she was watching. He stares back at her with similar interest, waiting to see what she'll do next.

She surprises both of them.

Sliding forward in her seat, she grips one of his lapels and tugs. He lets out a startled noise, stopping his forward momentum only at the last minute by bracing his hands against the desk. Lisbon doesn't pay him much attention, concentrating instead on searching the inside of his jacket for concealed pockets. (If she focuses on their proximity or the heady smell of him or the dark of his eyes as he watches her they will both be in trouble.)

Eventually, she finds two pockets, and after inspecting each one thoroughly, all she has to show for her efforts are a few coins. "This is ridiculous," she huffs, her brow furrowing in a way that Jane finds completely adorable.

A laugh bubbles in his throat. "Well, if you didn't have such a compulsion to win we wouldn't be in this situation." He almost tacks a _dear_ to the end of the sentence, but bites down on the endearment just in time. In this moment, with one of her hands drifting around inside his jacket and the other clenched around his lapel, the word would probably be too much. (He never said he was _brave_.)

Lisbon glares up at him. "If _you_ weren't such a pain in the ass we wouldn't be in this situation," she corrects.

Her hand is still inside his jacket, and it's immensely distracting. "That always seems to be the root of the problem, doesn't it?" he muses idly, trying not to pay attention to the smell of cinnamon and coffee tickling his nose.

"That's because it's a constant issue," she retorts sweetly, smile bright and just a touch mocking (and he _loves_ when she's like this).

Before he can say anything in retaliation, Lisbon moves to search his vest. Her fingers dip nimbly into one of the pockets, skimming over warm fabric and lint, and spilling fire into Jane's chest. He swallows thickly, struggling to think of anything else, because she is here and close and she could be _his._

She feels, rather than sees, his reaction, and freezes, finally realizing what she's doing. Pulling away like she's been stung, she releases her hold on him and drops back into her seat.

"Lisbon?" The slight hoarseness in his voice completely undermines the irritating amusement he means to exude.

She doesn't reply, but the blush spreading across her cheeks is answer enough.

"Listen, I..." He trails off, suddenly unsure. He just wanted to distract her for a moment, to help her forget about their impossible case.

Lisbon doesn't seem to hear him. She reaches toward the three cards still spread out across her desk and flips one over. It's a red ace, and her frown is terrifying. She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like _dammit Jane_, and then turns the next card over.

Another red ace. Laughing at her murderous expression, he leans over and taps the last card. "One more try, Lisbon," he murmurs, trying to sound encouraging.

She rolls her eyes, but flips the last card over anyway, staring when she realizes that she's finally holding the queen of hearts in her hand. "You've got to be kidding me." For a second she looks like she might throw the card at his head.

His look of surprise doesn't quite work, catching at his mouth the wrong way and twisting into a wide, obnoxious grin that gives him away. "Wow, who would have thought? The very last place you checked."

Her gaze flicks up to him, bright green and exotic. "Patrick Jane," she says, incredulous, "you tricked me."

He shrugs a little, picking the two aces up from her desk with a sweep of his hand and slipping them back into his jacket. "Do you feel better?" he asks, because when she's unhappy, he's far less happy, and the most important part of his day is when he makes her smile. (He has each one filed away in his memory palace, the moments soft-edged and worn from remembering them over and over: His hand on her face, fingers sliding over dimples and lips. Her astonished look and the doorframe pressed against his shoulder when he introduced her to her birthday present. The careful thing that tugged at her mouth when he gave her a paper frog for the first time.)

She tries to maintain a petulant look, because she's supposed to hate when he cons her, but he really has made her feel better. Any sign of a headache is gone, and the hopeless case does seem to be weighing on her shoulders less. "Maybe," she admits.

"Then that's all that matters," he says, as though it's that simple. He watches her steadily for a beat longer, and then stands up. "We'll solve this case, Lisbon. Don't worry."

She nods, watching him walk toward the door. "I know."

Just before he makes his way back out into the bullpen, Jane stops to look at her. "I mean it."

"I know," she repeats.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but seems to think better of it. (He wants to promise her _so much_, but there are miles of red between them, and he's not quite sure how this story will end.) With a reassuring smile, he turns back to the door and slips out of her office.

Lisbon tears her gaze away from his retreating form reluctantly, and tries to return some focus to the paperwork in front of her. When she reaches for her pen, however, she encounters some difficulty.

She's still holding the queen of hearts.

The card is flimsy and worn in her hand, and she should really give it back to Jane. It's not hers, and its absence will probably be noticed, and yet...There is a part of her that desperately wants to keep it. Something about the faded red images feels important and earth shattering, and she suddenly finds herself needing that. As a talisman, of sorts. A promise.

(Days later, when Jane breaks into her office and rifles through her desk, he finds the card in a drawer, half hidden under an origami frog and a hammer.

He smiles to himself.)


End file.
